


a thousand paper cranes

by fakeplasticlily



Category: Free!
Genre: Childhood Friends, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 01:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1286680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeplasticlily/pseuds/fakeplasticlily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they break the kiss, Makoto whispers “Haruka… ” against his lips, and as he forgets to correct him, for the first time in his life he discovers that his full name could sound beautiful too.</p><p>Or; Makoto, Haruka and a thousand ways to say 'I love you.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	a thousand paper cranes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Japanese legend according to which a person who folds a thousand origami cranes would be granted a wish.

**i.**

Haruka is six, and he dreams of the ocean.

He dreams of an endless expanse, clear and welcoming. He dreams of floating upon it for hours, forgetting the rest of the world. And he dreams of kind olive eyes smiling at him—but all too soon the dream changes, and olive eyes grow large and panicked.

-:-

Makoto isn’t quite six yet, and he dreams of the ocean too.

He sees an endless expanse that hides terrors nameless and unfathomable, and stormy clouds gathering low in the sky. He sees inky black depths coiling tendrils around the ankles of everyone around him and pulling them in like rag dolls, but he’s powerless to move or utter a single word. And he sees rolling waves cascading onto the shore, rising, rising, rising—

He turns on his side to curl into the smallest ball he can make himself into, tiny fists trembling slightly.

-:-

Eyes snapping open, Haruka blinks up at the ceiling for a moment. To anyone else the only sounds in the nursery would have been the steady whirring of the fan overhead and the soft snores of the other children, but it’s the barely audible whimpers from the corner that he notices first.

He looks around, and finds Makoto curled up on his side. He’s still asleep but he’s shaking slightly, and his face is scrunched up in fright.

Haruka looks around to make sure Hanabi-sensei isn’t looking—it’s naptime after all, and every child in the nursery is supposed to be fast asleep. Luckily, he can hear snatches of muffled giggles from the corridor that mean she’s on the phone with her boyfriend, and won’t be returning soon.

He sits up, and crawls towards Makoto.

-:-

Makoto dreams of falling. He dreams of the inky black depths of the ocean sucking him in, and closing over his head. And he dreams of a hand that grips him tight, and doesn't let go even as the waves crash into him from every which way.

Makoto sees blue eyes, large and bright above him, and breathes.

“Hey,” says Haruka, and he rubs away the wetness lingering at the corner of Makoto’s eyes. He’s stopped shaking him awake, but he hasn't let go of his hand. “Do you want to go outside?”

Makoto sniffs a few times and says in a small voice, “But sensei said—”

Haruka places a finger on his lips to shush him, and remembers the olive eyes in his dream. For some reason, the thought that he’d seen Makoto’s eyes in his dream makes his cheeks grow warm.

“We’ll have to be very quiet,” he tells Makoto in a whisper. “Here, follow me.”

Pulling Makoto up by the hand, he tugs him towards the back door of the nursery leading into the playground. When he places his hand on the doorknob, he feels a pull at his shirtsleeve.

“Shh!” he hisses, looking behind him, but his voice catches in his throat. Makoto looks like he had on _that_ day—that scared, sad look Haruka had promised himself he’d never let Makoto’s face bear again.

Squaring his shoulders, he squeezes Makoto’s hand tighter, pushes open the door and breaks into a run as fast as their little legs can carry them.

-:-

They stop behind a tree. Haruka looks around to check that they won’t be seen from the school building, and pulls Makoto down to kneel in the grass next to him.

Clenching his fists, Makoto stares down at the grass. Slowly, as he breathes in the fresh spring air, his sniffles grow softer and softer, and finally stop.

When he opens his eyes, he finds Haruka watching him carefully. He offers him a weak smile, and Haruka’s eyes soften in relief. It’s only a fraction, but it’s enough to make a pleasant sort of warmth settle in the pit of Makoto’s stomach.

Haruka holds his hand out to Makoto. He’s looking at a spot above Makoto’s shoulder as he holds his palm up, cheeks slightly pink. “You can have this,” he mutters. It's a small paper crane made with green paper and decorated in places with splashes of colour, that he’d been making it before Mitarashi-sensei sent them off for naptime.

Makoto stares at it for a moment. “Really?” he says. 

Haruka nods, and Makoto’s eyes brim over with happiness as he takes it like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

“Haru-chan, thank you!” he cries, and Haruka finds himself blushing again as he forgets to tell him to stop calling him that nickname already. (annoying, annoying.)

“You can try flying it,” Haru mumbles after a while, during which all Makoto has done with the crane is to stare avidly at it with his face lit up with happiness.

Makoto jumps, as if from a slight daze, and holds up the crane. Haru watches him closely as he aims it, face screwed up in concentration, and flicks into the air. It floats a short distance, and falls to the grass with a soft fwump. 

Makoto claps his hands in excitement, and turns to Haru with a laugh. “It flew!” he cries. “Haru-chan, you’re amazing!”

“Well, my grandma taught how to make it fly so it’s kind of _supposed_ to,” says Haruka, faced turned to the side. “I can teach you how to make too,” he adds in a mutter, “If you want.”

Makoto nods fervently, and Haruka takes out a piece of paper from his pocket that seems to have got in there nowhere, because he definitely hadn’t planned on bringing with him as he got up to wake Makoto. Oh no, not at all.

He looks at Makoto out of the corner of his eye as he starts to fold it, and feels his heart swell three times at the open-mouthed, undivided attention on him. “First,” he begins, “You fold it in half…”

Makoto watches Haru’s hands work cleverly on the pale green piece of paper, and promises himself he’ll spend the rest of his life holding out his hand for Haru to take it, whenever he needs to.

**ii.**

Makoto has been bending over his bag for a period long enough to be suspicious, but he’s relying on Haru being too distracted by the pool to notice. Heart in his throat, he fingers the little paper object carefully tucked away between his books for what feels like the hundredth time today.

Is it all right? Do the wings look okay? Are the colours a bit too bright? He couldn’t find any paper at the store in just the exact shade of blue he wanted, so he’d given up and chosen a colour as close to it as he could find. But everything about Haru-chan is quite unique, so it’s no surprise the bright, clear blue of his eyes are too.

But today isn’t Makoto’s lucky day, because all of a sudden, he hears a voice at his ear.

“What are you doing in there?”

Makoto straightens so abruptly, his shoulder knocks into Haru’s nose. “S-Sorry!” he yelps, and when he turns around he sees Haru peering curiously at the hand still half inside his bag. He’s been here all of three seconds, but the water dripping off him in rivulets has formed a small puddle around his ankles already.

“Haru-chan, towel!” Makoto cries automatically, “You’ll catch a cold!”

Haru shrugs, shaking his hair around a few times like a wet cat, but Makoto pulls out the extra towel he always carries in his bag for Haru, and drapes it around his friend’s shoulders. It’s white and fluffy, and Haru looks small and really cute wrapped in it. Makoto tells Haru _everything_ , but this is one thing he’ll never, ever tell him.

He’s too preoccupied to notice that a small paper object has fallen out of his bag, till Haru bends to pick it up.

Heart sinking, Makoto watches Haru straighten up and scrutinise the small paper crane he’d been making last night. He’d stayed up long past his bedtime to make it, huddled under his blankets with a torch so his parents wouldn’t be able to see the light from his bedroom.

“It’s nice,” Haru announces after a few moments. “Did you—”

“I made it for Haru-chan!” Makoto blurts out. His face is burning hot, there are a more butterflies than he can count fluttering around in his tummy, and he squeezes his eyes shut because he doesn’t think he can look Haruka in the eye right now. But he can feel the words rushing into his throat, and he needs to throw them all up right this second. 

“I made it for Haru-chan,” he says, the words chasing each other out of his mouth before he can even be properly aware of what he’s saying, “To—to say thank you, for swimming with me every day this summer! I used to be scared of the water, but—but I’m not scared anymore. And it’s all thanks to Haru-chan, for showing me swimming can be fun too! I’ve made a lot of friends here, and it’s been lots of fun swimming together all summer!”

Wringing his hands, Makoto lowers his head even though his eyes are still shut. “Once when I was scared, Haru-chan made me a paper crane for me and showed me how to make one—so I thought… I thought I should make one for him too, because I wanted to show Haru-chan that… I’m really glad, really, really glad that you’re my best friend!”

He looks up at Haru, eyes large and earnest. He can’t be sure because everything looks a bit blurry—when did that happen?—but it looks like Haru’s staring at him, eyes just as wide as his own, and are his cheeks a little pink? He blinks, but Haru has suddenly found a very interesting spot among the bushes around the pool, and his face is turned away.

“Don’t—don’t call me -chan,” he mutters, as he turns to walk towards the showers. But the back of his neck is pink, and as he bends over his bag pretending he’s looking for something in it, he’s really just carefully pressing the paper crane between the leaves of one of his books.

**iii.**

Makoto puts his pen down, and flops his head down on his desk. He’s been trying to finish this English homework all morning, but his head’s gone blank, his shirt has started to stick to his back in the sultry afternoon heat, and he’s not even halfway done yet. He and English have never gone too well together. 

There’s also the fact that his eyes keep straying to the window every few minutes. Down the string connecting his window to the one fifty feet away—Haru’s bedroom window.

He isn’t sure when this started—this practice of sending paper cranes down the string to each other’s rooms when they were ready to leave for swim practice. But it’s become a habit between them, and if Makoto’s being honest, it makes his heart want to burst with happiness every time he sees the string shake, as a paper crane sitting in an old tin can bobs down the string towards his window.

As if on cue, there’s a jolt on the string, and Makoto slams his books shut and leaps over to the window.

**iv.**

When Haruka’s eyes open, the first thing he sees is the white ceiling overhead, and the fan, quietly spinning.

It’s dawn. The early morning sun casts its weak rays over his sheets. He closes his eyes, and tries to remember.

Stumbling through a fog—but he isn’t sure if it was real, or just in his mind. A red scarf, fluttering on the surface of the water. The splash of water all around him. Waves crashing, howling wind—or was it a girl screaming?—and Matsuoka’s face, twisted in worry. But the worry wasn’t for him.

And through it all, a presence at his side. A pull at the hem of his shirt. Something that felt like warmth and comfort and home.

He turns, suddenly missing that warmth terribly. There’s no one there, but a small paper crane—messy and crumpled and hardly recognisable—made with shaking fingers, evidently, sits on the table next to his bed.

**v.**

“Nagisa, I don’t think this is a very good idea!”

“Lighten up, Mako-chan!" Nagisa calls. “You only live once, remember?" He winks, holding up two fingers in a V.

Makoto looks uncertainly up at the slate-grey sky, at the fat raindrops pelting down to the ground. He breathes in the smell of the rain-washed grass; it’s exhilarating. Haru would love this, he thinks, smiling wryly to himself as he looks at the huge puddles lining the road.

“Mako-chan, are you thinking about Haru-chan again? You’re doing that thing you do. With your face.” He motions vaguely with his hands, and Makoto flushes.

“I’m not—“ he begins, spluttering, but Nagisa calmly continues, “I’m just saying, I’m sure Haru-chan is fine! It’s probably just a cold, you don’t need to worry. Now stop mooning over him and get over here!”

From his vantage point beneath the eaves of the ramen store he’s standing under, Makoto hesitates, and Nagisa huffs impatiently. “The faster you get out of there, the quicker you can get back and play mommy to Haru-chan!” he cries.

Makoto bites his lip; he wouldn’t call it that, especially with the kind of thoughts he’s been having about his best friend lately. Like wanting to touch him and hold him in his arms and kiss him. And vague dreams he’d wake up from, panting and drenched in sweat—dreams of dark hair and beautiful blue eyes.

It’s the guilt associated with these thoughts that has him abruptly stepping out into the rain to join Nagisa. He wraps his arms around himself; it’s cold, but not entirely unpleasant.

Something floating down a little rivulet by the side of the road catches his eyes. He walks up to it, and bends down for a closer look.

“A paper crane!” Nagisa cries, and Makoto jumps; he hadn’t noticed him walk over here and crouch next to him. Gingerly, he picks up the little paper toy. “You know the story behind this, don’t you, Mako-chan?”

Makoto looks around at him in surprise. A story?

“Ah come on, I’m sure your mum told you about it when you were a kid! If you fold a thousand of these, you get a wish!”

“That was about… these?” Makoto questions in confusion, scratching his head. He remembers the story now, but somehow he’d never made the link between that and the paper cranes he’s made for Haru, and the pile sitting in his own bedroom at the bottom of his wardrobe. Most of the time, there hadn’t really been a reason behind making them, and giving them to each other.

He feels a twinge of sadness, suddenly. He hasn’t made a paper crane so long he isn’t sure he remembers how to make one, and there’s dust collecting at the top of the pile in his wardrobe.

Swallowing down the disappointment, he turns to smile at Nagisa. “Ah, I remember it now!” he says, thankful that he isn’t with Haruka, who would have been able to see through his smile in an instant.

It’s selfish of him to be upset over such a thing, when Haruka is troubled. He doesn’t know what went wrong six months ago, that caused him to quit the swim club and act cold and distant ever since, but he knows that he’ll always be there for him, for as long as he wants him by his side.

“Some people give them as gifts, too,” says Nagisa suddenly. “To wish for a speed recovery when their friends are ill and stuff. My sisters told me about that—lame, right?” he grins, and drops the paper crane back into the puddle.

Makoto stares pensively at the ground. Most of the time, there’d been nothing wrong when they’d given each other these paper cranes. It had been—just something they’d done. But the last time—the last time had been a few months ago, the day his parents told him Grandma Nanase had passed away in the night. He’d run over to Haruka’s house, as fast as his legs could carry him, but he hadn’t been there. No one knew where he was, and with the house full of relatives, no one seemed to care.

He can’t remember the last time he’d been so angry.

Certain that Haru would turn to the water for comfort, he’d walked up and down the beach for hours, calling out to him till he’d tired himself out. Then he’d sat down to wait on the rocks, but he’d fallen asleep.

When he woke up, Haruka had been sitting next to him.

He’s a bit fuzzy on the details of what exactly happened after that, but he does remember Haruka crying. As hard as he tries, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget that—those shaking shoulders, the red, tear-streaked face burrowing into his chest, and the trembling fingers tightly gripping Makoto’s shirt. He remembers being scared, really, really scared; remembers walking him home—his own home; tucking him into bed, and sitting on the floor next to him, folding paper cranes till he’d stopped shaking.

When he’d woken up, his parents had told him that Haruka’s parents had dropped by early in the morning to pick him up for the memorial ceremony later that day. He was gone, and so were the paper cranes Makoto had been folding all night.

-:-

It’s stopped raining by the time Makoto reaches the foot of the stairs, and glances uncertainly up at Haruka’s house. He hadn’t gone to school today because of a cold, but Makoto had brought him hot soup from his mother in the morning and checked his temperature and changed his sweat-damp sheets, and he wonders if Haru would want to see him again so soon.

Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to act around Haru these days, and it makes him feel like a little like his whole world has gone off balance. He wants to give Haru space as much as he wants to stay with him, and it’s been confusing—he tell himself that Haru wouldn’t just take things lying down if he didn’t want them, so if he didn’t want Makoto’s company, he’d let him know. The thought is so painful and frightening that Makoto squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to banish it from his head altogether.

Haru’s been so aloof, so distant these last few months, not talking any more than was absolutely necessary, and only getting out of the house—or even out of the bath—if Makoto told him to. There’s been a heavy weight on his shoulders, squashing the life out of him, and Makoto didn’t know what to do.

So he’d done the one thing he could—given him space but stayed by his side, acted just as usual, and tried to get him out of the house as much as he could. And of late he feels like Haru’s been changing slowly, growing a little bit more attentive to things in his own way, though he still can’t quite meet his eye.

Makoto wonders if he’s feeling guilty—that’s something he wouldn’t ever want Haru to feel over him, so he makes sure to act extra cheerful when he’s with him.

One week later, Makoto wakes up to find a small paper crane sitting in a tin can at his window, and Haruka waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs outside, and he knows everything is going to be okay.

**vi.**

Haruka’s eyes are directed at the window, much like every day, but he isn’t really looking. He never really looks, and his eyes keep drifting out of focus, but unlike other days, his brain isn’t really blanking out from the mind-numbing boredom that is double history.

Instead, he’s hyper-aware of everything. Everything within the frame of the two things occupying the entirety of his thoughts right now—Makoto, yawning from time to time while he takes notes in the seat next to him, and the little paper object burning a hole in the pocket of his blazer.

(There’s the prospect of swimming after class too, of course, but that’s a given for him.)

He doesn’t even notice when the bell rings, and it’s only when Makoto calls out to him that he turns around and realises that sensei has left the room already, along with nearly half of his classmates.

“I feel you, Haru,” Makoto sighs, “I really don’t know how I managed to stay awake for the last two hours.” He holds open his notebook, and giggles. “Look, I kept doodling Iwatobi-chan’s to stay awake!”

The light peals of laughter should sound out of place coming from someone of Makoto’s built and size, but it’s adorable. Really, ridiculously so, and Haru feels his cheeks start to grow warm.

They’ve been doing that a lot when he’s around Makoto, lately.

Lifting his hand to rub his nose as cover, he says, “Makoto, you go on ahead. I—I’ll join you later.”

“Ah… Okay,” Makoto answers, and he looks curious, but doesn’t press the subject. He takes out his lunch box from the deep recesses of his bag, and waves to Haru. “I’ll see you on the roof, then,” he says, and sets off towards the door.

He doesn’t notice the group of girls huddled together in a corner tracking his every move, but Haruka does. And he doesn’t like it.

Once Makoto has left the room, Haru allows his hand to slip into his blazer pocket for the first time all day. The familiar shape of a folded paper crane meets his fingertips, and suddenly he’s starting to feel hot all over again.

What would he even say as he handed that over to him? Would Makoto even understand the significance of a gift like this? No; he decides at once, of course he would. To an ordinary person a childish paper toy would seem a joke of a birthday present, but his and Makoto’s relationship hasn’t ever been what you could call ordinary, he supposes. And this has always been their thing, that has somehow grown into something special and important to both of them, though they haven’t really acknowledged it openly till now.

 _Till now_ , Haru thinks, as he’s about to go up and give this little paper crane to his best friend. Is it enough for a birthday present? Nothing could ever be enough when it’s Makoto, but he hopes at least he’ll be able to feel a fraction of what he tries to convey to him everyday.

Makoto would never let him feel guilty or pressured however clumsy he could be at showing affection, but sometimes he could be annoyingly oblivious to the fact that Haru has always _wanted_ to let him know what he meant to him.

But if he’s being completely honest, the gift he’d really like to give Makoto this year is probably… a kiss. The thought has him burning up all over so suddenly he has to lay his head down on the table and hope no one notices the redness over his ears and the back of his neck.

He can’t remember ever in all his years considering the possibility of kissing someone who wasn’t Makoto, but it’s been getting harder and harder to ignore of late. He can’t even look at his best friend smiling without going up in flames these days, and when you spent so much time with them, and they were so given to smiling, that could be a bit of a problem.

He hasn’t thought of what he’d do after he handed Makoto his gift, but if there’s one thing he’s realised this year, it’s that only thinking about things won’t get him anywhere. Tightening his hold on the paper crane in his pocket, he gets to his feet.

The salty sea breeze drifts in through the open windows as he walks down the corridor, and with every step that brings him closer to Makoto he can feel his misgivings dissipate, and his spirits soar. Because besides the water, if there’s anything in his life he can be certain of, it’s his bond with Makoto.

He climbs the first flight of steps, rounds the banister, and freezes.

Makoto is standing at the top of the steps, and there is a girl in front of him.

He doesn’t catch the look on Makoto’s face—doesn’t want to—his eyes focused on the girl instead. She’s pretty as a porcelain doll, long hair and soft curves, voice like the tinkling of bells as she bends down low and holds out an intricately prepared bento box.

“Tachibana-kun, happy birthday! Please accept this!”

Haru’s heart sinks to the floor, the paper crane limp in his hand. 

What is he even doing? 

He doesn’t hear the rest of the conversation; still can’t bring himself to look up at Makoto and witness for himself the face he’s making. The face he’s making as he receives a painstakingly made present from a beautiful girl with a voice like tinkling bells.

As he hurries down the stairs, he wonders if this is what it’s like to feel your heart breaking.

-:-

Makoto calls out Haru’s name as he lets himself in, too worried to wait for an answer. He hasn’t seen him since break, and no one seemed to have seen him anywhere. It’s not really uncommon for Haru to wander off like this, but he’d been acting a little off all morning, right up to the last he’d seen him, when he urged Makoto to go on ahead.

He hurries up the steps, calling his name. Fully expecting to find him soaking in the bathtub, he’s on his way to the bathroom when he happens to glances into Haru’s bedroom out of the corner of his eye.

Haruka is inside, crouching on the floor. And surrounding him, all around, are more paper cranes than he can count.

A shaking hand covering his mouth, Makoto starts to walk towards the door. He probably stumbles a few times, but he barely notices. Because the paper cranes scattered all over the floor are his—every single one, made for Haru, and he isn't the only one who's been carefully keeping them away all these years—and suddenly he’s finding it a little hard to breathe.

Haruka doesn’t look up as he pads quietly into the room, nor even when he kneels down next to him. This close, Makoto can see a few of the paper cranes threaded together into the beginnings of a senbazuru winding around Haruka’s knees, a work in progress. A needle attached to the thread hangs limply in Haruka’s fingers as he stares blankly at his work.

Makoto doesn’t say a word, but something’s shifted between them, and whatever it is they’ve been feeling for each other all this while is suddenly brimming over till the whole room is thrumming with it, impossible to ignore.

“The girl—” Haru says, a long moment later, picking up a crane and threading it, “That girl… How was the bento she made for you?”

For a moment, Makoto is so taken aback by the question he forgets to answer. It takes him a second to realise what he’s even talking about.

“Eh… that girl? I… I thanked her, but I told her I had my own lunch. And then… then she started to confess.”

The needle stills in Haruka’s fingers.

“But…” Makoto voice grows soft, and there’s a vague urgency in his tone, like there’s something important he needs Haru to understand. “I told her I was sorry, because there’s someone I already like.”

Haruka doesn’t answer, but whatever it is that had shifted between them grows and swells till it fills the space between them so suddenly he can barely breathe.

Trying to ignore the blood rushing through his ears, he starts to work furiously on the senbazuru, never once looking up.

He can tell Makoto’s looking at him, never once taking his eyes off his face, though his heart is beating so loudly it’s a wonder he can register anything at all.

He isn’t sure when Makoto shifted so close to him, but at some point he catches his eye, and that’s it—he can’t help turning his face to look at him fully, as though drawn to him, even as his face threatens to bursts into flames.

Makoto leans closer, and there’s no question what he’s going to do—he pauses, inches from Haru’s face, allowing him time to move away. Haru lets his eyes flutter shut as he closes the distance between them.

When they break the kiss, Makoto whispers “Haruka… ” against his lips, and as he forgets to correct him, for the first time in his life he discovers that his full name could sound beautiful too.

**vii.**

“You should go back in,” Haruka says. “You have an early train tomorrow.”

Makoto doesn’t answer, but the hand that’s been absently petting the cat on his lap freezes.

“You’re done packing, aren’t you?” asks Haru. He’d been helping him to pack himself, and once they’d finished, they’d come out to sit on the steps and watch the sunset. Makoto had given him his jacket earlier as the evening breeze turned chilly, and the sleeves are a few inches too long. He fingers the cuff lightly, and doesn’t look up.

Makoto is quiet, and it’s funny how Haruka is the one rambling on and on now, as though if he keeps talking it would make the reality of tomorrow, the reality that’s been hanging over their head for months, go away somehow. 

“Did you remember to pack your socks? I kept them on the chair next to the window, they weren’t fully dry yet. Don’t forget your laptop charger… And if you’re looking for your hair gel, they’re in the second compartment next to—”

“Four years,” says Makoto quietly, and Haru stops dead. Makoto turns to look at him, eyes so intense Haru’s heart clenches. “It’s only four years.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do without you,” Haru breathes. He didn’t want to say the words; didn’t want to tell Makoto just how terrified he was of a life without him. He suspects it may have showed, but he wouldn’t ever want to make Makoto feel guilty because of him.

“You’ll do everything, Haru. You’ll go to college and make friends and swim and teach kids how to swim. And you’ll talk to me every night, and tell me about your day.”

“I can wait,” says Haru, fisting his hands in Makoto’s shirt. “I’ll wait as long as it takes, but—” He tugs Makoto close and kisses him furiously, before breaking off to hide his face in his chest, “—I’m sorry, I’m weak, and I’ll miss you every moment of every day till you come back to me.” 

Makoto pulls Haru close, crushes him his arms and kisses him and kisses him like wants to steal away a piece of his soul and keep it with himself. “You’re the strongest person I know,” he murmurs, as he presses a paper crane into Haru’s palm.

“You’re so sentimental,” Haru murmurs against Makoto’s lips, but even as he says the words he’s pressing a paper crane of his own into Makoto’s heart.

**viii.**

“Oi Tachibana, you coming?” Yamato bends to tie his shoelaces as he asks the question from the hallway, but he isn’t really listening for an answer. It’s a question he’s been asking nearly every weekend for the past four years, and he’s so accustomed to hearing the usual answer that he hardly registers it as it floats in from the direction of his flatmate’s room.

“Ah, I think I’ll pass for today! You guys go on and have fun, though.”

Yamato straightens up, and sighs. With graduation in three days, that was probably the last time this exchange ever happened, and it’s almost making him nostalgic. He walks up to Makoto’s door, and leans against the doorjamb. “You know,” he says, “We’ve been flatmates four years and I think I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve actually been out partying with us.”

“You know Saturday evenings are the only time of the week I can properly talk to my family,” says Makoto, smiling slightly. He’s sitting on his bed, knees raised up to his chest and arms curled around them; fingers absently thumbing the screen of his phone.

Yamato rolls his eyes. “Bullshit,” he says, “I’ve seen you while you’re on the phone with your _family_ , and you’re not fooling anyone!”

Makoto looks stunned for a moment, then turns his phone around to look at the screen. “You’re right,” he says after a long pause, and the look on his face changes. “It wouldn’t be completely honest of me to say it’s just family I talk to.”

Yamato watches his eyes soften, and his smile melt into something so soft, so full of love, that he finds his own face heating up. Somehow, he feels like he’s intruding on something so impossibly intimate that he’s too embarrassed to stay there a moment longer.

“I—I’ll just be going, then,” he mutters, turning on his heels, but he doesn’t think Makoto really notices.

When the door clicks shut behind him, Makoto leans back against the headboard. He feels a little ridiculous, staring at his phone wallpaper—Haru holding up a kitten as it kisses him on the cheek—like a lovesick girl, but after four years and countless moments like this, it’s probably a bit too late to start now.

Lovesick isn’t what he’s feeling though, not really; he’s homesick. Tokyo is exciting and exhilarating and has taught him so much, opened his eyes, enriched his life with all the people he’s met and all the experiences he’s had, and shown him the world, but it will never be home.

 _Home_ , Makoto thinks, closes his eyes, and breathes.

 _Home_ ; the salty sea breeze of Iwatobi; the stone steps leading up to the shrine; the kittens that frequent that path; the twins’ incessant squabbling; the smell of his mother’s homemade green curry; and Haru.

 _Three days_ , Makoto thinks, and those two words make him feel strong enough to be able to do anything. Three days. He leans over the edge of his bed, pulls out a dusty trunk from under it and lifts the lid.

Slowly, he draws out the chain of paper cranes carefully coiled up inside, counting them as he goes. He knows the number—knows it from all the times he’s done this in these last four years, but he supposes he’s always been a little sentimental

Nine hundred and ninety-nine, he counts, but it ends differently this time. This time, he leans over to take a piece of paper from his desk, and starts to fold it.

And when he’s done, he brings out a small box from his locker, takes out a ring from inside it, and places it between the wings of the crane. He seals it with a kiss, blushing at the silly gesture though there isn’t anyone to see, and just in time the phone starts to ring. _Haru calling._

Three days later, he graduates, kisses Haruka’s lips, and asks him to marry him.

**_seven years later_ ******

From her place on the living room floor, Mizuki flips over bodily to regard her parents with a beady eye.

The Asian Games are on TV, and once Uncle Rin’s race ended the twins had rapidly begun to lose interest. Toshi is snoring already, drool starting to pool on the floorboard under him, but his twin sister is very awake and very alert.

“’Tou-chan, Papa…” she says, pouting a little, “You never told us the story about those things.” She points over their heads, and though they know what she means, Makoto and Haruka turn around as one to follow the direction of her finger.

On the pale blue wall behind the sofa, two senbazuru hang on either side of the back door leading into the garden. They flutter gently in the light wind, and for a moment, Makoto and Haru find themselves transfixed by the sight.

“Toshiii,” Mizuki hisses, poking her twin brother in the ribs, “Stop falling asleep or they’ll send us to bed!”

Her parents turn around at her voice, and she sits up. “Well?” she demands. “You promised you’d tell us, Papa! ‘Tou-chan, he promised!”

She turns to Haruka, lips starting to wobble. Haru sighs, and holds out a hand to her.

Eyes tender, Makoto watches her jump to her feet and run into her father’s arms. Getting up from the sofa, he walks up to still-drowsy Toshi, picks him up and carries him to his seat.

“All right, all right,” he says with a laugh, “We’ll tell you! You’ve been good today, so I suppose you can stay up a little while longer.”

He looks around at Haru, and for a moment his eyes are arrested by the sight of him gently wiping drool off Toshi’s chin. He leans back into a comfortable position, placing Toshi’s head on his chest, and sensing Makoto’s eyes on him, glances around at him.

At the look in Makoto’s eyes, he flushes and ducks his head. Even now, so many years on, he can’t help getting flustered at the way he looks at him sometimes. Makoto smiles, and resists the urge to lean over and kiss him.

Then Mizuki tugs at his shirtsleeve, and it’s his turn to blush. She has the ‘Papa and ‘Tou-chan are being weird again’ look on her face, arms crossed and cheeks puffed out in a striking resemblance to her Aunt Ran.

“Ah—ah, as I was saying!” Makoto hastens to say with a guilty laugh, palming back the back of his neck. “There’s a story behind those paper cranes. You see, once upon a time…”

Mizuki listens in rapt attention, and even Toshi turns his head in Haru’s arms to sleepily listen.

-:-

“Hey, Papa, ’Tou-chan,” says Mizuki suddenly, tugging at Makoto’s sleeve and hanging her head upside-down to look at Haru. Story time over, Makoto and Haru are carrying her and Toshi to their bedroom. “You said you made those two sen-senba-things, so did your wish come true too?” 

Haru and Makoto exchange looks—they’re standing in the house in which they share their life with each other, wedding bands gleaming on their fingers, holding their children in their arms. Their faces melt into soft, identical smiles, and Makoto ruffles his daughter’s hair gently.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes never leaving Haru’s face, “Yeah, I think they did.”

**Author's Note:**

> senbazuru (n.) - a thousand origami cranes lined together on a string 
> 
> shshjdf so much fluff. and so self-indulgent, that last bit. feedback is much appreciated! thank you for reading ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Five Things (And One More)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1474555) by [snowyseas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowyseas/pseuds/snowyseas)




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